And so I drifted off. In my mind I was floating on a lazy lake, hand trailing in the cool water, watching it froth and slither around my fingers, a pure, fluid, timeless dance, every movement unique and perfect. My fingers were pink and icy cold, and as I raised my hand from the water, I observed their tips had corrugated, as though the water had worn channels in them. The late summer sun was directly overhead, beaming down on us, its heat radiating through my thin cotton tee shirt, invigorating my skin, penetrating to my bones, instilling in me a sense of calm and wellbeing. Moments like this, I thought, stay with you all your life. It isn't always the momentous events that you remember, but little instances of happiness, vignettes, lifelines to the past; long after their significance has evaporated, the emotion they created lingers within you, distilled into one flash of memory.

Ruth was especially gorgeous that day. She had the oars, and the exertion of rowing had flushed her face, giving it an extra vivacity, overlaying on her perfect features a radiant sheen. The sun glinted on her bare shoulders, defining her well toned muscles, adding a lustre to her fine skin. Striking effects were being played out on her dark hair, with golden, sun-kissed streaks rippling through it as her head bobbed back and forward in a silent rhythm. She was concentrating on the job in hand and, with all her attention channelled thus, the normal defences that marshal themselves in one's face fell away, revealing, I fancied, the real person beneath: it was an unguarded moment when I could read her thoughts, see her soul, feel her heartbeat. I felt such a strong love for her then that I felt tears well up within me. She caught my eye and smiled.

"Happy?" she asked.

"Totally," I murmured. "Totally."

We had a picnic with us, and were heading for a tiny island in the lake. It was little more than a brief expanse of sand, about six yards square, with a giant boulder and a couple of trees, one at either end. I had been coming here since I was a little girl, regarding it as my own private property, my secret den. I remember the sense of outrage I had felt once, many years before, when I found the scorched remains of a fire on my island and realised that someone else had been there. Tresspassers, I thought. How dare they? As I got older the island stayed with me, its role gradually shifting, redefining itself in time with my changing outlook. The island of thrills for an eleven year old girl hooked on adventure stories. The skinnydipping years when I was a teenager, daring myself to strip off and feeling a frisson of excitement as I skimmed naked through the water. The mini parties when I was home from university with some of my friends, building my own little fires and making indescribably bad barbecues. The place of tranquility, an escape from the pressures of working life. And of contemplation, when I wanted to be alone. And now it was to be our island, I was about to share it with Ruth, the woman with whom I was ready to share everything.

The lake had already taken on a symbolic role in our relationship, being the place where we pledged our love for one another, the place where we bound ourselves together, where we acknowledged that ours was a shared future. Since then, I had been keen to introduce Ruth to my island on the lake, seeing it as a way of linking my past to my future, and of securing Ruth's place in it. We came to the lake often that summer, strolling along the edge hand in hand, sometimes talking, sometimes silent. On occasions we would come in the early morning, hearing the excited chatter of the birds in the trees and at the waterside: solitary moorhens with their high pitched shrieks; sandpipers whistling their welcome as they waded along the edge; the occasional sighting of a quiet jack snipe taking off in a straight ascent and soaring above us, out over the lake and into the distance. Other times we would come in the evening, as dusk settled on the lake. That was a special time, the folds of the gentle tide falling dark and light, their simple, rhythmic sound accentuated by the stillness of the evening. A few rabbits would hirple along near the long grass, snouts twitching nervously. Our old favourite, the short-eared owl would let out a lugubrious hoot, giving us a start and making us laugh and embrace one another as we walked by. We fell in love at the lake, and we fell in love with the lake.

The boat reached our island and I gingerly stepped onto the sand, grabbing the stern as I did so. I fastened it to the tree with a rope and grabbed hold of Ruth.

"Welcome to our island," I said as I helped her off the boat. Ruth grinned and held me in her embrace, planting a smacking kiss on my lips.

"Our own island," she replied. "Be it ever so humble, it's all ours."

We lay a blanket on the sand and unpacked our picnic. It was an impressive spread: two bottles of chardonnay, some chaat, which is a cold chicken curry, couscous salad, homemade herb sausages, spinach and cheese samosas and dahi vadai, or spicy lentil balls with yoghurt. For later, we had fruit aplenty: peaches, plums, very late strawberries, grapes and cherries. Also tucked into our picnic hamper was a mini tape recorder and a stack of tapes. We had planned for a long day.

As the mysterious introduction to Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra gradually speeded up, then slowed, speeded and slowed, in a repetitive, palindromic cycle, we lay contentedly beneath the shade of the western tree, as we grandly called it, to differentiate it from the eastern tree. This was a slow feast, and we would lie back, arms folded beneath our heads, for minutes at a time before rifling through the hamper and picking at another morsel. Sip by sip we consumed our wine. Mouthful by mouthful we finished our picnic. I would slip a samosa between Ruth's waiting lips, wiping the crumbs from her cheek and planting an impudent kiss on her mouth while it was still full. She would reciprocate by feeding me a grape, holding it between her teeth and passing it to me. Eventually, we had eaten enough and lay, languidly, together. Hours passed.

At some stage we fell asleep, bodies entwined in an easy embrace, head to head. I found myself falling into step with the hypnotic rhythm of Ruth's breathing, until we were two hearts beating as one. I've no idea how long we lay asleep, but as I awoke at one stage I was conscious of feeling cold and wrapped the blanket around us. I was dozing fitfully now, not asleep but not fully awake either. Ruth's hand was still stretched out across my stomach, but it was now stroking me gently, tenderly, soft enough to be almost imperceptible. She eased her hand underneath my tee shirt and stroked afresh, this time directly on my skin. Her fingers were splayed out, feeling my ribs, each one resting in one of the intercostal regions before sliding, graciously, upwards and over another rib into the next hollow. Up and down my ribs she played, fingers resting and moving, resting and moving, repeating themselves; sometimes her fingers would dance in tiny circles, sometimes they would slide the length of my rib, other times they would just rest where they were, the heat of her body transferring into mine.

After some minutes of this I felt her thumb resting against me as well, rising upwards until it reached the swelling of my left breast, rolling against its minimal curve, imparting its owner's sensuous message. In a semi-awakened state it is highly stimulating to be fondled in so intimate a fashion, and my nipples were erect and straining, as I silently implored Ruth to venture upwards and cover my left areola with her artful fingers. As though telepathically, she did just that, her fingers leaving their exploration of my ribs and circling the lower edge of my breast, nails grazing a fine trail around it before sliding upwards and onto my areole, where they formed a circle and squeezed inwardly, tenderly, so gently on to my aching nipple.

Our heads were already touching, crown to crown. We slid them upwards, so that the point of contact came lower and lower; our foreheads met, then our brows; eyebrow to eyebrow, cheek to cheek, nose to nose; as the tips of our noses met we lay together for some moments, an embrace intimate and passionate. Finally, we each arched our necks slightly and our mouths came into contact, that familiar arc of pleasure glissading down my body as I felt the velvet of her lips against mine. Still not entirely awake we exchanged kisses, her tongue gently lapping against my lower lip and straying inside my mouth to run amorously against my teeth. My tongue stretched out to meet hers and they joined, playfully cavorting, a gavotte, a dance of togetherness.

Ruth eased my tee shirt upwards, the cool, early evening air wafting against my exposed chest. I lifted my back to help her ease it over my shoulders and head. With free access to my breasts she trained her mouth on them and took my left nipple between her lips, gripping it between her teeth. Her tongue flitted elegantly around it, lapping upwards and downwards, flicking across it and circling backwards and forwards. She began to suck, so gently, her hand gripping itself around my breast as she did so and kneading it in a beautifully controlled, measured way. I felt excitement pulse through my body. A surge of heat thrilled through me, invigorating every nerve end, enlivening every ounce of flesh.

Her hand had slipped downwards, and was resting on my jeans. My legs parted slightly and her fingers splayed out across my mons, stretching round towards my ass. The palm of her hand was pressed firmly against me, and I rocked my pelvis against it, revelling in the firm pressure she was imparting, feeling it against my pussy lips and, especially, against my clit: her middle finger was pressing against me particularly firmly and it was focussed directly on my clit, drawing sensations from it which made me gasp aloud. I felt her wrestle with the button of my jeans and then ease the zip downwards; all of a sudden her hand was resting on my panties, fingers scratching at the cotton, demanding entrance to what lay beneath.

I stroked her hair lovingly as she continued to suck on my breast and stroke me through my panties. My pussy was buzzing with anticipation, hot and damp, eager for her touch. I raised my hips to drop a far from subtle hint, and Ruth began to drag my jeans down over my legs to my feet. Undoing and removing my shoes, she pulled the jeans clear of me and eagerly approached my panties, gripping them and sliding them off. I raised my knees and Ruth eased herself between my legs, stretching up to kiss me, her hands flat on the blanket, holding herself above me. She planted kisses around my face, skimming, sweet and tender, covering every inch of skin. As I tilted my head slightly she began to nuzzle behind my ear, knowing that it drove me wild; licking up and down from neck to ear she caused goosebumps to erupt throughout my body. I sighed contentedly, and smiled as her tongue trailed downwards towards my breast. She teased me, flicking first one nipple, then the other, only just making contact. I arched my back to try to lift myself towards her mouth, but she maintained the distance between us, continuing to make minimal contact, coaxing me, playing with me, toying with my senses.

Slowly, she began her descent. Trailing her tongue down my stomach, over my belly button and onwards, she reached my trimmed vee of hair, lingering on it, her nose resting in it, drawing in its musky scent. With her tongue she began to draw around its periphery, down to my right leg, flicking over to the left and upwards to the far corner of the vee, before tracking across again. Round and round she did that, never quite making contact with my pussy, but wafting her excited breath around it, sending ripples of excitement through me. I was soaking by now, and desparate for her touch. Sensing my readiness, she fixed her attention on my pussy and eased her tongue on to my puffy, swollen lips, puckering her mouth up and planting a delicate kiss on me. Gradually, her tongue increased its pressure and eased a passage between my lips, slipping into the hotness within. My juices were flowing aplenty, and I watched as long silvery strands became attached to her tongue and she drew them into her mouth. Time and time again, she did that, drinking up my love juices, revelling in their musky, ripe taste.

She parted my legs wider, affording herself deeper access to my pussy, thrusting her tongue into me to its further extent. The feel of it, wet and hot within me, and of her heavy, excited breath sent me onto another plane of delight, tipping my senses into overload. Ripples of anticipation filtered down my thighs to the soles of my feet; I felt my ass contracting repeatedly, as it always does before I come. I knew that when she turned to my clit I would explode, and lay waiting for the moment.

Ruth gave her attention, however, to my pussy lips, sucking them one at a time into her mouth, grazing her teeth ever so gently up and down, rasping her tongue across their length. As she did, she manoeuvred her face so that her nose came to rest against my aching clit, still hidden beneath its hood, but hard and tense. The pressure from her nose increased the tension within me and I bucked involuntarily; this had the effect of pushing Ruth's nose upwards against my clit and unsheathing it from its hood. Without its protection I was now lost: the first direct contact with it would send me over the edge, I knew. So did Ruth, and she teased me again, circling her tongue round and round, blowing gently on it and resting her mouth millimetres from it. Just when I thought I could cry from the frustration she lowered her head and kissed me directly on my clit. Puckering her lips, she grazed them against it, sending lancing sensations throughout my entire body. Opening her mouth, she drew out her tongue and slowly, deliberately, deliciously, flicked it upwards, catching my clit from below, producing shockwaves which zapped through me. Covering it with her mouth, she began to draw it into her, the pressure of her sucking motions proving the final straw. I let out a cry, my hands curled into balls of anticipation and I felt the climax surge through me, like a panther emerging at speed from the undergrowth and racing towards its prey; it was an intense, animalistic experience, raw and edgy, and it burst through my body. All at once, every nerve ending, every fibre, vein and muscle exploded into a ball of pure pleasure, palpitating, fermenting, throbbing. Sparks appeared in front of my eyes, my very own aurora borealis playing out before my stunned gaze. Wave after wave jolted through me, gradually subsiding, slowly easing off until I was left, hot, thrilled and satisfied.

"So, Harriet, will a35 meg pipe be enough?"

Oh well, back to the day job.